“I think David has some idea of volunteering.” He said this casually, and peered sharp at Mr. Deane: saw the shock on his face, and was relieved. “Has he?” Mr. Deane’s flow of words belonged to a distant mood. “Yes. You know David’s generous instincts.” Mr. Deane sat abruptly straight: he grasped a pencil, tapped the desk with it. “When he reads the general language of the Call he thinks it means him. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he tells you some fine morning that his business career is ended.... Well--and yet you know, Mr. Deane, there’s absolutely no such hurry.” “Hurry!” the older man exploded. Straightway, he held himself down and was still. Tom went on: “If the War lasts, why, then, of course....” “Of course, if the War lasts. But it won’t.” “America can’t squeeze all herself into Cuba. Our own affairs....” “Precisely.” A silence. Mr. Deane was thinking. Tom jumped up. “Well, sir,” he thrust out his hand, “I hope I am pardoned for taking your time in this outrageous way. It naturally meant a great deal to me to have the mature judgment of some one like yourself on a boy whom I consider my friend. I am glad to find that you confirm my confidence in David’s real business ability. I needed your corroboration. To tell you the truth, Mr. Deane, David’s impetuosity worries me at times: that quality of giving without thought--without proportion. I was a bit afraid. You have reassured me. Thank you very much.” He was gone. That afternoon, Mr. Deane devised a plan. Deane and Company must render its quota of service to the national cause. Deane and Company was a single unit in the zeal of its officers and employes to enlist. Some restraint must be placed upon such vast enthusiasm. The country could admit to its armies only the merest fraction of those champing with the eagerness to serve. Meantime, the land must not be dislocated. Business must go on. Another course, even if due to an heroic response, would virtually be to lend comfort to the Enemy. Wherefore, in order to save its employees the embarrassment of individual choice, Deane and Company suggested that enlistments be confined to unmarried men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty. To such, their positions would be found open on their return from service. David was twenty. This suggestion was printed and posted. David sought out his uncle. “Uncle, I want to enlist.” It was his office; Mr. Deane was contained and strong with all the prestige and strategy of place. He did not want his nephew to enlist. This was to be a hot and nasty war. America had no need of his particular kin beyond his own chosen service for him in the House of Deane.